Adam
“Here we are. Home sweet home.”
Kolby sticks the key in the lock of his dorm room door. Or tries to. It takes him three times to get the door open.
I could make some sort of off-color joke about having trouble getting it in. But honestly it’s nice knowing he’s as nervous as I am.
It’s not like I’ve never fooled around with a guy before, but I’m guessing he’s got a lot more experience in that area than I do. The fact that he’s a little jittery tells me I’m not alone in this. That he didn’t invite me over here to watch TV and play video games.
He pushes the door open and steps back, gesturing for me to go in before him. I quickly duck inside. Kolby made sure the coast was clear before bringing me up, and I’ve got a Moo U ball cap pulled low over my face so I won’t be recognized even if we do run into someone. But you can’t be too careful.
His room is pretty basic. Standard issue dorm furniture with the addition of a small sitting area. Perk of being an RA. But he’s managed to add a few personal touches. A 24-inch flat-screen TV. TheHate Has No Home Hereposter over the couch. A sort of mini kitchen in one corner, with a microwave, coffee maker, toaster over, and a dorm-sized fridge. One of those rolling carts filled with books.
Maybe later I’ll get the chance to scroll through them. You can tell a lot about a person from their bookshelf. And I want to know everything there is to know about Kolby.
“Do you want something to drink?” He crosses to the fridge. “Sorry, no wine. But I’ve got Shipley cider, a local IPA, and some Mountain Dew. And water, of course. Or coffee if you want something hot.”
Oh, I want something hot. But it’s not coffee. “An IPA would be great, thanks.”
He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair. I follow his lead, taking off my coat and putting it with his.
“Have a seat,” he says, motioning to the couch. “I’ll get our drinks.”
Our. That means I’m not drinking alone. Which is a good thing. The air between us is thick with a combination of sexual tension and awkwardness. We both could use a little loosening up.
He bends over to get the drinks from the fridge, giving me a front-row view of his spectacular ass. When it comes to guys—and girls, now that I think about it—I am definitely, certifiably, ten thousand percent an ass man. And the one I’m ogling now belongs in the ass hall of fame. The thought that I might actually be inside him at some point is almost enough to make me bust a nut right here on his scratchy, uncomfortable dorm room sofa.
Fuck, I am so far gone for this guy it’s ridiculous. Why else would I be violating my number one rule this semester: focus on school and skating, not sex? But as hard as I try, I can’t seem to make myself care about that now. Not when I’m finally alone with Kolby, just him, me, his bed, and the locked door. I may regret this tomorrow, but tonight I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this man. I’m going to touch him, taste him, take all he has to offer, and give all I have to give. And worry about the consequences later.
He comes over with a beer in one hand and a cider in the other. He gives the beer to me before taking his cider and sitting on the other end of the couch. I’m more than a little disappointed that he’s way over there and not close enough for me to grab him by the collar, haul him in, and kiss the shit out of him.
But maybe that’s a good thing. One of us needs to slow things down a little. And I don’t blame him for being cautious. Hell, if I were him, I would have kicked me to the curb back at V and V. What kind of asshole tells a guy he likes him in one breath and in the next says he can only date him on the down low?
This kind, apparently.
“Wanna watch TV?” Kolby asks. “I’ve got Netflix, Hulu, and Disney+ thanks to Ian, who lets me use his password. Or we could playMario Kart.”
Okay, maybe I was wrong. Maybe he did ask me over to watch movies and play video games. Or maybe he wants me to make the first move.
The first move.The thought paralyzes me. My last first move was almost the end of my hockey career.
I lift the IPA to my lips, tip it back, and swallow. “You playMario Kart?”
“Not very well. It belongs to one of my residents. He’s got a big econ test next week, and he asked me to keep his Nintendo Switch until then so he could study without distractions.”
“I’m not much of a gamer.”
“So TV, then?” He picks up a remote control from the battered trunk that serves as a coffee table.
I shake my head, and he puts it down again.
“If you don’t want to watch TV and you don’t want to play video games, what do you want to do?”
I don’t say a word, just cock my head and raise an eyebrow at him as I continue to sip my beer, hoping he’ll get the hint and slide on over to my side of the couch.
His eyes widen and a muscle tics in his jaw, but he doesn’t move. “I was trying to be a good host. I thought it would be in poor taste to maul you the second we got through the door.”
I take another swig of my beer before I set it down on the trunk next to the remote. “We’ve had drinks. Made small talk. I’d say you fulfilled your hosting duties.”
